Your erotic stories

Jonathon J. Pierce was neither a morning person, nor a Monday person, and this moment happened to be both. Amy, his primary partner, devoted submissive and beloved pet, had been away since Thursday on a company trip to a marketing conference in Atlanta, GA and would not return until the coming weekend. While he missed her terribly, he got so little personal time that he jealously guarded what he did manage to scrounge up, so he'd had all weekend to himself and he was very "not ready" for this work week to begin.

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Rules were very important to her. Rules about eating. Rules about time management. Rules about messing around. She'd lived her whole life by her rules, and it kept her happy. It'd been awhile since she'd had anyone else play by her rules though; she was getting frisky. That's why she'd texted him, "Are you in town this weekend?" He knew her rules. He liked her rules, and right now he was the only man she knew who could satiate her desires.

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Her face is perfect, angelic. Her eyes are a soft blue, her hair pale blond. Her features are delicate and childlike, her lips plump and tinted a soft rose. Her body is slender and sylphlike, sheathed in a high-waisted slip of a dress, gauzy and coy. He wants her, wants to possess the innocence she embodies, wants to drive himself into it, own it and shut it away so he'll be the only one to ever taste it.

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I am a man haunted. Driven to the depths of despair and raised to the heights of ecstasy by that girl: a slim young creature who bewitched me and made me half crazy as I careened between fierce lust for her and bitter remorse for what I subjected her to. It was not always this way. For most of my life I was the soul of dignity, a true gentleman. My life was a tranquil sea, roiled neither by triumph nor tragedy.

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Cruise Ship Cinema was an older style movie theater that had been converted to a multiplex as best as the architecture of the antiquated building would allow. There were eight theaters and an oversized entry lobby. The projection loft was on a second floor that ran above the lower ceiling hall that separated the theaters into two banks of four.

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It wasn't auspicious for a relationship; he wasn't quite...right. Not that there was anything wrong with him per se, because there wasn't. We had met online through one of those dating apps; he was sweet and funny and intelligent. Normally he would have been perfect, but I needed something...more.

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On the hottest, steamiest night of the summer in the big city, I almost met my Maker. I was an undercover cop working for the vice squad, about to observe and take part in a drug transaction outside the Frisky Bar, a gay strip joint in a seedy part of town.

Moving down the alley closer to the drug buy, I moved out of sight of my partner (a mistake), and passing behind a dumpster, I saw the perp and his customer.

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It was a beautiful fall day in Niagara-on-the-lake, in southern Ontario. It is the time of year for the grapes to be harvested in the wine region of Eastern Canada. Matthew's schedule was tight and he had been watching the vineyards closely since returning from Chile on the World Winemaker's Conference in Santiago. His Assistant, Richard de Grosse, had been invaluable to him during the summer lead up to this.

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A shapely chestnut-haired girl frolicked through a meadow with careless ease, her long red hood trailing behind her as she carried a basket full of pastries on her way to her isolated grandmother's house. Unbeknownst to her, exploring the deepest, most wooded areas of the forest, there was also a young man. A young man who suddenly came upon a path, which he followed to the very same meadow filled with tiny purple flowers.

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"Ten full minutes. You gotta lay there, on your back, totally nude. Hands behind your head so you can relax." "Relax, right." How Mike and I wound up in this bizarre, slightly hilarious situation was fueled by very cheap beer and overactive 19 year old hormones. Well, Mike was 19, I was 18, and we'd been buddies since sophomore year of high school.

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